


in death i dance alone

by atticboygenius



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Episode: s02e03 Redding Weddy, I suppose?, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atticboygenius/pseuds/atticboygenius
Summary: The Captain, his Captain, at Button House had told him once before that compassion would be his killer.
Relationships: The Captain/Lieutenant Havers (Ghosts TV 2019)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	in death i dance alone

**Author's Note:**

> i had a dream that the end sequence of redding weddy was actually havers moving on, his soul tied to the house because of the letter, so enjoy <3
> 
> yell at me on my ghosts twitter @debbieofmaddox! kudos/comments v much appreciated!
> 
> (please keep in mind that this isnt in line with the canon characterisation of cap regarding his sexuality, this whole thing is - well its literally based of a dream so i took some liberties in how the cap/havers relationship is presented)

Havers imagined death approaching on nimble feet, offering a glare that commanded him to kneel. The smoke that creates its gown at waist level, slowly filling the room and choking him. It would lean forward as if to offer its secrets, invite him in, but instead caress his face with it bony fingers and kiss him. It would take his hand in its own and they would dance, before finding itself behind him in tandem position as the curtains fell. Arms would wrap themselves around his body and delicate hands would discover what was before them before crushing his bones to dust. It would be ferocious and gentle and everything in between. Death was beautiful and poetic in his dreams.

  
The harshness of reality is discovering that death, in practice, is nothing like those dreams. 

  
It was a quick death really. Two weeks of fighting, it was, on the British line of defense - a soldier downed hand in hand with the mistake of looking back with the hope of saving. It was a shot to the chest, leaving him stepping back - lost words in an attempt to clamber from his throat. Minds were on the battlefield, and there was nobody to stop the blood. He dropped next to him, the soldier already lifeless, and in his last moments held the young lads hand in his own. He heard the cheers as the German offensive broke through before succumbing to his fate. The Captain, his Captain, at Button House had told him once before that compassion would be his killer.

* * *

  
In his waking moments after death, Havers found himself back at Button House where he was previously stationed before leaving for the front. He was back in the uniform he wore before leaving, not the itchy beige shorts and rolled up sleeves off the North Africa campaign's getup. There was no wounds or blood or phantom pains. He assumed everything after that was a dream, a wake-up call to avoid announcing his leave to the Captain - to stay. Approaching the Captain told him otherwise. Havers knew every part of his Captain's face, he'd drawn a map of it in his mind. From how his jaw sat to the way he smiled to the flare of his nostrils and to the slight slit in his left eyebrow. He'd especially engraved his face when he announced his leave in his thoughts, and the greying of his mustache confirmed to him some time had passed.  
  
He reaches for him, arm outstretched. Gentle. Tender. An apology of sorts.  
  
The gesture was useless.  
  
His hand tore straight through him, the movement leaving the Captain shrugging his shoulders and brushing at it quickly like an itch that wouldn't go away. He withdrew his hand, held it close to his chest, and backed out of the room in a hurry. He knew he was dead, Havers was a smart lad, but it took some moments to come to terms with that. Rubbing his wrist at the hand he withdrew, he stationed himself on an empty chair, rocking back and forth, cursing to himself about the impossibility of the situation in a quiet, empty room.  
  
(Except, and Havers hated to admit, that it wasn't an empty room. A regency poet sat on the opposite bed, boiling with dramatic flare. Thomas was blissfully unaware of Havers appearance, oblivious to the others existence. Quite literally invisible. And yet they never felt quite alone - despite Havers essentially talking to a brick wall - and Thomas ranting about how stuffy the room felt all of a sudden. Neither of them have touched the room since.)   
  
He considered the possibility of moving on, wondering if there was something tying him to this life (or this house, he supposed). When a group of silly looking individuals dressed in clothes from different eras - the regency poet included - were huddled together only to disperse and look astonishingly with wide eyes and mouths agape at an army captain brushing himself off with a dumbfounded manner, he supposed the something tying to this house was _him_. He realised the group were ghosts too - not that he didn't suspect it, but that he was trying to brush off the impossible with silly excuses like a well funded costume party - when they all passed through the wall. Havers heard the Captain stutter in uncertainty, reaching a hand out, but the gesture offered the same results as the first time.  
  
What wrongdoing did he commit in his life to deserve to live the afterlife alone, a ghost among ghosts, a soul trapped between community and nothingness?  
  
(He knows. Kisses in the office, wandering hands entwined in each other, sharing unlawful looks instead of strategies. Pretending you're at work, discussing meaningful things, when a soldier walks in unannounced and catches the tension between you saying nothing). (He doesn't regret it. He'd do it again).  
  
When he pulls himself back to the real world - or, well, as real as one supposes a scenario like this could be - he catches the Captain staring him down. He thinks everything's alright now. They cannot share kisses but they can share looks. Until one of the ghosts pops back in, a caveman, places a comforting hand on his shoulder and it doesn't tear straight through him. The Captain jumps, his focus on where Havers was stood moved to the man beside him.  
  
"Ever'hing ok?" He asks in broken English.  
  
"Quite," the Captain thanks him, hands pressed before him as they fidgeted with his swagger stick.  
  
"It difficult. I know. But you...not alone. Come."  
  
Havers wish he could be told the same.  
  
The Captain nods in thanks, giving the room one last look, before following the caveman with hesitant steps.  
  


* * *

Havers learns the names of the ghosts while he's there.  
  
Robin, he discovered, was the name of the caveman who comforted his Captain. Then there's Humphrey, Tudor who roams the halls in search of his head - he knows the other ghosts can touch each other, he wonders why no-one offers to carry the head or reattach it to its body - and Mary, hesitant to talk about the witch trail for which she was accused and killed. Kitty, excitement and good energy personified, and Thomas the over-dramatic poet. Then there was Fanny, and of course the Captain, like brother and sister from different eras both uptight and with a sense of authority. An injured scoutmaster and a trouserless politician came soon after, Pat and Julian respectfully he found out. He advised himself to stay far away from the latter.  
  
Then arrived the Coopers, Alison and Michael, with the ghosts working together to rid of them and the life changing injury that had Alison talking to them. Routines set up, friendships found, venues set, and family made. The house felt bigger and Havers resigned himself to the garden.  
  
It was messy, sure, but quiet. The house was getting too big, too full of life, way too much for someone unable to converse with the rest of the spirits. It made him feel more lonely than he'd felt in years. He just wanted to move on. Find peace. Instead death offered him an eternity alone going insane from lack of communication, from the lack of his Captain. He regretted ever leaving for the front.  
  
It all comes to a head quite quickly as he sits alone, truly alone, for the first time. The Captain not sharing his name or past, and Havers being selfishly glad - the Captains secrets were his alone, but the lack of mention for Havers draws him away. He must hate him, must truly resent Havers, he thinks. He offers the idea that he's overreacting, that wanting to keep his secrets and past to himself is his god given right, but if the Captain resents him then this afterlife is punishment for abandoning him. He wants to fix everything, try it all over again.  
  
Soon enough the gardens been cleared up. Thistles destroyed, dirty clothes, shovel lying about. He hears the Captain all day barking orders, begging even, he can't get away from him. Ironic.  
  
"What the bally hell do you think you're playing at? Alison, get away from there!" He hears, concern dripping in his tone, and "Get down, get right out of the way. It's going to blow! It's a bomb!" and it's a moment of genuine concern, not for his past, for the family that the Captain has come to love. Its the flames consuming the ground and the Captain running to shield the evacuating group by covering the explosion with his body and Havers being content with the fact that this is who the Captain is, who the Captain was, and who the Captain always will be. Even without him there. Its this feeling exploding inside him like the bomb that just set off and pages being torn apart and letters being burnt and secrets being told. He feels a weight leave him.  
  
He hears his name.  
  
"...my second-in-command, Lieutenant Havers, but he left me. I mean, he left for the front."  
  
Until it's back. Sorrow. Guilt.  
  
Its when the group leaves that he lets himself breathe. He makes a journey round the grounds, contemplates the decades of loneliness, the heartache and guilt and love that he carried with him - and the weight off his shoulders that he miraculously felt earlier. It felt like a second chance, a time to let go, and he thinks he's ready. He goes to the gates, the ones he knows that the ghostly residents cannot wonder past, finds a coat and hat and rucksack tucked away. It's the same outfit he put it on when he was leaving, when he wished the Captain farewell in the rain, holding back the urge to lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek (he envelopes him in a hug instead, it's the best he can do). He puts it on, slowly, one arm through and then the next - and the rucksack strap neatly over his shoulder and his hat fitted nicely perched atop his head.  
  
He stops just before the gates looking up to the window where he can see movement and activity, and he sees the Captain looking through the window and right at him. And its not like the first time where he just sensed Havers' position in the room, this time he can truly see him. And decades of yearning and lost time come to a close with a wave and an appreciative nod. And that's it. He ascends.  
  
Havers, as he leaves, thinks he'll never know the true reason why he was tied to this place. Whether it was the Captain or what exploded or just his guilt for leaving manifesting as this punishment - eternity alone - he will never truly know. He could only ever guess. The Captain however, with the letter reading _To William,_ that he tucked away neatly in his tunic ready to approach him with it, only for it to be buried with something explosive after he announced his quick leave (after leaving the unit. Leaving him), knows. And he wishes he'd acted that night, for a different story would've been told.  
  
_Well, if that's all?  
  
Yes...I say, Havers? ~~It's a bally shame we won't get to finish the operation together.~~ I love you.  
_


End file.
